Clovers
by IndigoLight
Summary: Behemoth was pretty sure demons didn't cry. Which is why he was also sure his master's face was wet with rain, not tears, even if there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Behemoth, as he follows Amaimon through the stages of his life.


I swear I ran out of so many animal sounding words here.

I am totally aware this story has no point whatsoever ;)

Thank so much to the awesome beta **As if this was my real name **who, for the record, I totally thought was her real name. :U

R&R. Feel free to point out mistakes, or things you didn't like, so long as you offer solutions :D

x.x.x

Since the moment Behemoth hatched, he had always, always been with Amaimon.

From the very beginning to the absolute end, friendship was always a given and loyalty was never questioned. Behemoth may not have had a sharp enough mind to comprehend the complexity behind human (or humanoid demon) relationships, but he was always certain of one thing – he'd always be by Amaimon's side, even through death.

He was his familiar, anyway. It was common courtesy to make sure his master didn't die (Satan forbid) alone.

And Amaimon had been with him when he was born, after all.

He doesn't remember much, but when he was just entering the world behind the wall of his egg, the first thing the baby goblin felt seconds after he met air, were small, bony fingers prodding at his head.

His eyes were still fused together, yet he retained the sense of touch, and leaned into the warm finger pads to press his face in it.

It smelt very strange, like wild clovers and wet grass, but instinct programed the scent as "safe" and thus the goblin was quite disappointed when the fingers suddenly drew away. He let out an unsatisfied croak.

"...What is it?"

The voice was small and soft, but it held an air of grace, and though partially still wedged between fragments of egg, Behemoth found himself trying to get closer to it.

"A goblin." another voice, deeper, and it was apparent it came from someone of much older. Behemoth didn't like how it fell against his ears—too loud, too harsh. "A hobgoblin, to be exact. And from this day forward, it is _your _hobgoblin."

"Mine?"

Behemoth gnawed on the sticky shell with his toothless mouth, unsure of how to get free. He flopped over onto his back and tried to roll off the egg, but it remained glued to his stomach in a mockery of a skirt.

Bony fingers started trailing along his shoulders and forearms. It felt nice, so Behemoth opened his mouth (which was still partially filled with eggy fluid) and cooed.

"It's really tiny." the voice sounded surprised.

"Yes, but this species is the largest of its kind. It starts off small, and defenseless, but grows to be one of the strongest demons alive. Sort of like how you'll be, mmm?"

There was tenderness wrapped in those words, and a small hint of sadness, but Behemoth's primitive mind could not yet grasp the concept, as he focused on finding sustenance.

"...Yeah."

Then something flat and soft is rubbed against his face, with a texture he is not familiar with, so he cried out in surprise. He flapped his flabby paws at it, but it didn't stop for another few seconds.

The fluids were gone now, but it made the baby goblin suddenly aware of how cold the world was, and he shivered. Whining contritely, he rolled in the direction the voices, in hopes of finding something warm.

A pair of hands, gloved and large, (Not the tiny bony fingers he was expecting) scooped him up, and a large thumb rubbed rhythmically over his ears. Sensitive nerves grimaced as the thumb pressed a little to hard and the baby goblin squirmed.

He was passed into the smaller, gentler hands, and Behemoth felt soft puffs of breath tickle his nose.

The warmth on his face suddenly made his evident coldness take on a much sharper contrast. He shivered.

Then sneezed.

Unprepared for such a alien action the baby goblin squealed as he spat saliva and egg yolk all over his master's face.

There was a choked cry of surprise, a chuckle, and Behemoth shrank back into the fingers.

"It sneezed on me!" the voice sounded scandalized.

"That's because its cold. Bring it inside."

He heard a harrumph, before long fingers ran over his ears and down his back. Behemoth purred.

The child scratched at a spot behind his ears, and that felt _good, _so the little goblin curled itself into a ball

"You are so _weird._" the boy muttered, but there was no real bite to it. He continued stroking the ears and touching the little nubby horns on Behemoth's head, and the baby demon churred in satisfaction.

He pressed his face into the fabric of the boy's shirt, and breathed. Enveloped by the scent of clovers and the warm arms around him, he concluded that, this, was safe.

And Behemoth fell asleep.

X.x.

The days after his birth were fast-paced and hazy, but weeks and weeks later, Behemoth's eyes are finally able to open.

The first thing he sees is a thin stick of a boy with hair the color of grass and eyes the color of sea. They were like that in those terms as well—choppy and short, and irises that were deep and ever-changing.

The boy is small, but still far larger than Behemoth was (although Behemoth was still only a few weeks old ), and stared at him in bleary fascination when he first pried his fused eyes open.

He had blinked and had teared but when he could finally focus after the barrage of a new sense filled with colors, he saw that his master was smiling a little, and Behemoth felt something flutter inside his chest.

He was seated on the top of the young master's knees, held carefully in place by bony hands (which were, Behemoth recalled fondly, the first things he had felt when he hatched) and he wiggled his new-seen forearms around, curious.

They were sitting in the midst of the Royal Garden – a privilege only allowed for Satan's sons – and the large flora that shielded them from Gehenna's sun was known as Yggdrasil, a demonic plant that whispered fortunes and prophecies (that Satan insisted were true). It was primarily consulted in war times or in eras of chaos, but Behemoth would come to know it for a gentler purpose – relaxing next to his master underneath the canopy of withered leaves.

Speaking of which, his master pulled him off his legs and set him on the grass, and Behemoth used his newly opened eyes to stare fixedly at the child's face.

A moment passed as the baby goblin decided what he thought of it.

In average sense, the boy was not at all attractive. His face was alright, but not overly special.

Not what a demon prince was expected to look like.

His skin was too pale, and his eyes were too large, and he acted in very odd mannerisms that he just couldn't seem to cure. He wasn't particularly menacing either – though he did have a strange way of looking at people. Cold and still, like the stone he was named for, and while it wasn't_ frightening, _it was certainly unnerving, and no one would guess what was going through his head.

He was an odd boy, an odd prince, an odd child growing into an odd king. He was different.

Different, but quiet. And he was (most of the time) mellow and obedient, so none of the other members of the royal family bothered with him.

Not Satan, nor Azazel or Egyn, not even Astaroth.

Mephisto(the tall, dark demon who Behemoth learned was Amaimon's elder brother)checked in on him at times, to see if he was doing alright. But he had his own conquests to take care of, his own places to go and his own goals to complete. Even he, abandoned him.

Behemoth probably should have, too.

But those tiny hands were laced with a fragile tenderness when scratching behind his ears, and there was something about those droopy wide eyes that Behemoth adored and he knew, that he would follow this child past Assiah and beyond Gehenna, and where ever this boy chose to go.

A black lacquered fingernail then made its way to scratch under his chin, drawing his attention back to the situation at hand. Behemoth leaned into it, purring.

The boy watched quietly, raising his unoccupied thumb to press against his lips.

"You're so _small._" he said finally. "Brother told me that you're supposed to protect me, but I don't think you could even stop a fly."

As if to prove this statement, Behemoth rolled over onto his back, exposing his sensitive stomach. The boy gave it a good natured rub, and the corners of his lips turned upward when the baby goblin gurgled in happiness.

It continued on for a few minutes. Behemoth liked being scratched and rubbed, so he made quite a show of turning and rolling and squeaking, and his master seemed to like that, so he was happy. His master was much, much nicer to look at when he smiled (and his canines would show and Behemoth was rather jealous of them).

The child plopped down in the darkened grass next to his pet, not noticing at all as the dampness of the dirt stained his jade-colored clothes. Behemoth churred, crawling to his side, and breathing in the familiar scent of clovers and wet plants.

Suddenly, Behemoth's ears perked up at the sound of ruffling leaves. He stopped to listen, his master's fingers prodding the back of his head.

The boy craned his neck to look at him.

"What's wrong?"

There was no breeze, and the coal tar had disappeared, so Behemoth was quite curious to what was making that noise. He shook the child's hands off and bounded further into the garden, determined to find the source.

He came across a very large flower—a large, _moving _flower— whose stem were laden with thorns, and whose petals were a vibrant bright red. It rustled, and Behemoth moved closer, stretching his forelegs to get a closer look.

At its center, a large, golden eye stared at him.

Behemoth churred, and the flower moved awkwardly to its side – it made stiff, jerking movements, like a fresh corpse twitching in its death roes. It hung forward limply, and stared at the goblin.

"Heeeyyy!" Behemoth heard his master call. "Where did you go?"

Hel et out a loud chirp over his shoulder.

The strange flower moved around him.

He pushed at a flappy leaf protruding from its stem. It shook his paw off.

Behemoth turned back to the red petals, whose edges gleamed suspiciously. He blinked, belatedly realizing they were lined with teeth.

He heard rustling behind him as something ran through the grass.

The flower lunged.

He wasn't exactly prepared when he felt damp petals envelope him, and he was definitely not expecting tiny blades of teeth to dig into his arms. It tightened its grip around him a few times, trying to swallow, but Behemoth wasn't going to have any of that.

The little goblin screeched and thrashed, kicking and scratching at everything he could reach. The flower teeth were more blunt than sharp, and though it stung, his tough skin made it difficult to penetrate.

The golden eye stared down at him.

As though it couldn't get any worse, a second maw appeared, right by his face, and that's when all the confidence the goblin had seemed to drain away.

The flower made a low, grating, rasping sound and the sides of it seemed to be getting smaller.

Just when Behemoth thought that the last thing he'd see would be the parianths of a flower, something yanked him by the tail.

Torn from the sticky confines of the plant, the rush of air through his head made his ears ring.

The flower (which was now probably the first thing Behemoth could apply "hate" to) made a displeased sound and hissed.

Behemoth, who was currently in a rather painful position (his young master was holding him upside down by the tail, which _hurt _like Assiah) made an attempt to look menacing and growled back.

His master dusted off his robes and shifted Behemoth into a more comfortable manner in his arms. The flower stared at him for a small moment before squeaking and recoiling back into the bushes.

The child stomped on a spare vine that hadn't fully retracted yet, and turned away, ignoring the pained screech behind him.

The boy lifted Behemoth to his face. "Bad goblin_._" he scolded. "I can't believe you nearly got eaten by a Dökkálfr. You're supposed to keep me safe, not the other way around."

Behemoth purred apologetically, content now that he was safe and comfy in his master's arms and wagged his tail. His young master put him down.

"This way." he said and started walking in some random direction. Behemoth trotted faithfully by his feet.

He had rather nice shoes, anyway: dragon skinned boots adorned with complicated gold patterns. Looking at them made Behemoth's still-sensitive eyes hurt from the sheer brilliance.

The sky roared, shaking Behemoth out of his thoughts and he jumped about two feet into the air.

His master stopped, and the goblin moved closer to his legs. He looked up at him.

He was staring at the clouds, a shallow breeze playing with the ends of his green hair. The clouds, once light and fluffy moments ago, were becoming a dusty dark color, and the sky was fading away.

Something about this must have displeased him, as he bit his lip and quickly turned to scoop Behemoth into his arms.

"...It's going to rain." the boy said warily. "It will be dangerous. We should go inside before _he _arrives."

Behemoth detected something akin to fear laced in the words but he had no idea who _he _was to cause such a reaction.

It wouldn't be long before he found out.

x.x

Parianths = If I'm correct, it's the inside of a flower. If not, well, science was not my best subject.

Lol I know it was super boring but I swear actiony stuff comes in the next chapter okay

I just wanted to write about Behemoth being cute okay. IT WASN'T MY FAULT.

Dannnng the whole stupid flower thing made me feel like I was writing a porno DX Never doing that again, uh-uh.

Oh and Behemoth doesn't really know Amaimon's name yet ;) That's why I haven't mentioned it. Next chapter, guys.


End file.
